


Burying the Past

by blondsak, killerqueenwrites, S0lstice



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Buried Alive, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Stabbing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/S0lstice/pseuds/S0lstice
Summary: They’ve practiced this, gone through scenarios over and over again. It’s been a possibility, a lurking threat, ever since Peter first wormed his way into Tony’s tightly-guarded inner circle. “I’ll find you,” he’s said, a hundred times. “Just keep your head down and stay alive.”But nothing in the world can prepare Tony for the camera to pan around slowly until it finds a scuffed sneaker, dusty jeans, a Death Star shirt – and Peter’s slack face pressed into the dirt.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 106
Kudos: 467
Collections: Irondad and Spiderson Secret Santa 2020





	Burying the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsreallylaterightnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsreallylaterightnow/gifts).



> A big Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to the lovely itsreallylaterightnow! 
> 
> This Secret Santa prompt originally came to me (S0lstice), but rl was kicking my butt so I asked for help to make sure it got done on time. Ciara and blondsak both came in clutch like the bamfs they are and we were able to triple team it!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It had taken weeks of meticulous planning and preparation, but finally The Day—as Erik had taken to calling it—had arrived. It’s the day he was to go from _Erik Adams, undervalued Stark Industries employee_ to _Erik Adams, Right-Hand Man of Tony Stark._

As he dutifully makes his way from his tiny studio in Brooklyn to Forest Hills, Queens—careful to follow every single traffic light and stay under the speed limit, seeing no need to draw attention to himself this early–he can’t help but consider everything that had led to this moment. 

The catalyst had come two weeks earlier, when his supervisor had announced that SI was cutting funding for their department and layoffs were imminent—not missing the sharp look that had been sent his way. It was no news to Erik that Jorgensen had it in for him, letting Erik’s various proposals languish on his desk when if he’d just _read_ them he’d see why they should have gone straight to Tony in the first place. Not to mention the low rating he’d received during his annual review in the interpersonal category, as if that even _mattered_ when you worked with a bunch of idiots. 

And that’s all his colleagues were, Erik had figured out early on. A bunch of vapid bores who thought just because they had a fancy degree or five from MIT, Caltech or Stanford, that that meant they could slack off on the job—more concerned with where they were ordering in from for lunch or about getting to their stupid child’s soccer game on time to concern themselves with what _really_ mattered. How did they not see the important work they were doing here? How did they not understand the _gift_ they’d been given by even being allowed to work in the same building as a true genius? Idiots, all of them, and Erik couldn’t wait to rub it in their faces tomorrow when he announces he’d been promoted to working directly under Tony himself.

There had only been one coworker over the few years Erik had been at SI who had been sort of worth getting to know, and that had been Beck. But even he had been far too proud for Erik’s taste, always talking about how Tony didn’t know what he was doing—didn’t recognize BARF’s potential—as if Beck could ever _touch_ the genius that was Tony Stark. No, Beck had been too loud and too arrogant, and Erik hadn’t been sad to see him go in the end, even if he was marginally more interesting than the others. 

Besides, Beck had nowhere near the dedication to Tony that Erik had. He’d been watching Tony’s career since he’d been a kid, after all—cutting out newspaper and magazine clippings of his accomplishments at MIT, and then all his SI projects and successes. Between everything, Erik had filled four scrapbooks, and that didn’t even include any of the tabloid publications. No, those just made Erik angry on Tony’s behalf, seeing him slandered by the press when they should have been grovelling in gratitude that this man deemed them worthy enough to be protected by first his SI weapons, and then as Iron Man. Even _if_ half of what they wrote about his personal life was true, well, didn’t Tony deserve to let loose once in a while? He worked harder than anyone else except maybe Erik, not that Erik would ever tell him that. No, Tony had earned his right to relax, and the lies those journalists spewed didn’t deserve to be saved and memorialized next to everything Tony had done for the world. 

Erik remembered then his first day at SI, seeing the wall of children’s letters and drawings to Tony—feeling slightly put out when he hadn’t seen any of his long letters in there. He’d written once a week for years as a kid, and had never once received a reply. But that was okay. Tony was a busy man, after all. 

But the moment he was hired on the BARF project had been proof Tony really had received them, and that soon enough—once Erik truly proved his mettle—Tony would promote him up from his junior assistant status. But as one year had turned into two and still Tony had yet to acknowledge him directly or even so much as make any sign he knew who Erik was, well, it had been hard not to be discouraged. But if there was one thing Erik knew it was that Tony was a true genius and certainly had a plan for him. 

Then, the day finally came when Tony had made his move. Erik had volunteered to do some software upgrade busywork in Lab 36-B, knowing it wasn’t far from Tony’s personal lab. His efforts had been rewarded when halfway through someone had come in and quickly walked up behind him.

“Peter? What are you doing here this time of–”

He’d turned around to see Tony there, only for Tony to quickly pull his hand away. “Damn, uh”—Tony glanced at his lab coat nametag–”Mr. Adams, my apologies. I thought you were someone else.”

“Erik Adams, Junior Assistant on the BARF Project at your assistance. And no need to apologize, it’s kind of a joke around here that I look just like your intern,” he’d replied, forcing down just how much he hated that fact. 

“You do,” Tony said with a chuckle, then shaking his head “That damn kid. A pain in my ass, he is.”

“Oh?” Erik couldn’t help but say. “You know, if you need someone to take over his work, I’d be happy to–”

“I don’t think _that’s_ possible,” Tony said, still chuckling. “He’s quite the–”

“I assure you that anything a _child_ can do, I can do better,” Erik interrupted petulantly, only to inwardly grimace. _Too far, you idiot, too far!_

He glances up to see Tony staring at him with an odd, appraising look on his face. “Uh. Tell you what, Mister…?”

Erik tried hard not to let his face fall. “Adams, sir.”

“Adams,” Tony said, snapping his fingers and then pointing at him. “Tell you what, Mr. Adams. As soon as I’ve had enough of Mr. Parker I’ll let you know, alright? But for now, just keep working hard on BARF as I’m sure you have been.”

Erik beamed. “Yes sir,” he said. Tony was halfway across the lab when he added, “Just one more thing?”

Tony halted, taking a deep breath before twisting around to face him. “Yes?”

“How will I know when it’s time?”

Tony gave him a disconcerting look, Erik wondering once more if he’d said too much. But then Tony smiled, pointing at him again. “Oh, you’ll know.”

And with that, he’d hurried out of the lab—no doubt off to something very important. As for Erik, he had been watching carefully for the signal from Tony ever since.

There’d been nothing until the day Jorgensen had made his announcement, and a lightbulb had lit up in Erik’s head. This was it! Tony had clearly planned all this to see what Erik would do—if he’d take it lying down or if he’d fight for his rightful place. 

He just had to figure out how to do away with Peter Parker.

Erik knew Peter was Tony’s intern—as he was reminded of all too often by his colleagues due to their uncanny likeness—but as to how he’d even wormed his way into that role, Erik had no idea. There didn’t seem to be anything special about the kid, not really. He was nice enough, as Erik had learned the couple times he’d made a point of saying hello to the boy over the last few weeks in preparation for The Day—getting a confused if kind smile in return. 

But for all his good nature, Peter clearly didn’t take the honor of working directly with Tony Stark seriously. He showed up perpetually late to his lab appointments—Erik watching him run through the lobby far too many times to count by now on the evenings he stayed to try to catch a glimpse of Tony himself coming and going. And Erik had even heard him on the phone one day, telling someone named May that “Mr. Stark isn’t _that_ bad,” as if that was in any way a proper way to defend the man who had given him an entire _internship,_ something that Erik would have done anything for as a teen.

Peter clearly didn’t deserve the attention Tony gave him, and as far as Erik was concerned, that made him fair game. 

That said, Erik wasn’t an _evil_ man. He really did think that it was unfortunate Peter had to die, but also—Tony clearly disliked the boy underneath it all, or he wouldn’t have set this all up in the first place. Erik would make sure it was painless for the boy, and anyway, average people died every day and the world moved on—the same would happen with Peter too. And he was most definitely average, from everything Erik could tell. Oh sure, he probably got good grades and maybe had won a science fair award or two, but what was that to Erik’s loyalty? What was that to everything _he_ had given to prove himself to Tony?

And here they were finally. The Day had come to get rid of Peter once and for all. And the first order of business: getting Peter to come with him.

Just as Erik’s research had shown, Peter’s waiting at the bus stop to go to school. And just as Erik had anticipated he’s by himself—being the only student for blocks who attended Midtown in Manhattan. 

Pulling up in his old Volvo, Erik lowers his window. “Hey, Peter!”

The kid turns to look at him in surprise, seemingly not placing him for a few moments before he smiles—if looking slightly confused—and waves back. “Hi, Erik. What are you doing in Queens? Do you live near–?”

“Tony asked me to give you a ride to school today,” Erik interrupts, not letting his grin waver when Peter’s brow scrunches up even more. 

“He didn’t tell me about that,” Peter says, sounding uncertain.

“Last minute thing. It was supposed to be Mr. Hogan but I guess he had to go with Tony on some work trip and well, since Tony and I are good friends he asked if I wouldn’t mind instead.” When Peter just continues to look apprehensive, Erik playfully rolls his eyes. Still smiling he adds, “I mean, if you don’t believe me, you can always just call and ask?”

It’s a bluff, but if he’d learned anything about Peter Parker, it’s that the kid was too good for his own good. A hapless, trusting idiot just like most people, in the end. 

After a moment Peter shakes his head, and Erik inwardly cheers. “No, that’s—I don’t need to do that.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Erik leans over and unlocks the passenger side door. “Get on in.”

With one final look around Peter slides in, putting on his seatbelt and shooting Erik a small smile. “Thanks, Erik.”

“No problem, Pete,” Erik says, taking off back into traffic. 

His plan is coming together perfectly.

* * *

There’s something about early morning flights in the private jet that Tony finds extra soothing. The cabin is quiet, save for the subdued hum of the engines, and the few crew members aboard speak in hushed tones and keep to themselves. The newborn sun casts its rays through the windows, unhindered by the blanket of clouds below them. It warms Tony through his suit and illuminates all the tiny particles of dust that hang in the air. 

As is often the case, Happy lays in the seat across from him; half-reclined, eyes closed, head back, and arms crossed over his chest. Tony lets him rest. As much as he likes to banter with the decidedly not-a-morning-person man, he knows Happy had woken especially early that day to finalize their schedule in Newark and so he’s instead spent the last hour or so busying himself on his phone.

Though the headlines he’s scrolling through currently aren’t exactly helping the positive state of mind he’d been enjoying thus far. 

_“New Evidence of Malpractice Surfaces at Mount Sinai Hospital”_

Lovely. He swipes past.

_“Famed Lincoln Plaza Cinemas Announced Closing Next Month”_

Swipe.

_“Popular Fragrance Retailer Perfumania Files for Bankruptcy”_

He swipes again and is about to abandon the news completely in favor of reviewing his upcoming speech when the next headline comes into view.

_“Spider-Man Rescues Furry Friends From Fire at Local Animal Shelter”_

An instant smile spreads over his face.

“The kid made the Huffington Post,” he says, opening the full article.

Happy grunts, silent for a few seconds before finally clearing his throat and shifting around a bit. “What for?”

“Defused a bomb in Times Square.”

Happy’s head immediately tips up, eyes going wide. _“What?”_ Tony just smirks until the other man huffs and lays his head back again. “What did he actually do?”

“Cleared out a burning animal shelter.”

Happy has already closed his eyes again, but his lips curl into a small smile. 

“You’d believe the bomb thing though, right?” Tony presses, heart warming with pride as he skims through the article. 

Then the phone buzzes suddenly in his hand, and the article switches over to a picture of Peter himself, smiling wide. Tony had already been planning to shoot the kid a congratulatory text, but he supposes a video call would be even better. 

He taps on the screen to open the call, and is immediately confused to find himself looking at the ground. “Hey, boy genius, flip the camera around, you’re pointing me at the dirt.”

The view moves a little bit as the person shifts their stance, but he just sees more sandy, pebbly ground.

“Pete?”

_“You know he doesn’t have you in here under your real name?”_

Tony freezes, stomach tightening ever so slightly at the unfamiliar voice.

_“I’m guessing he doesn’t want anyone to make the connection between you two if someone like me got into his phone.”_

Happy shifts upright, his expression hardening and his eyes locked onto the phone in Tony’s hand. 

“Who is this?” Tony demands. 

_“The little nerd has you listed as Yoda,”_ the unknown man continues, unbothered. _“Like him, it’s kinda cute, but kinda stupid. If he wanted to hide your name, he shouldn’t have listed you as the legendary mentor and then worn a_ Star Wars _shirt. Idiot.”_

For a split second Tony bristles, before he comes to his senses and instinctively taps at the screen to close his side of the camera. 

_“I already saw you.”_

“Who is this?” Tony asks again.

_“Even if I didn’t see you, I would know your voice anywhere. Do you recognize mine?”_

“Should I?” Tony briefly meets Happy’s gaze, who’s now watching him with furrowed eyebrows. 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and the crunching of feet shifting again. _“Yes. Yes, you should recognize my voice.”_

“Well I don’t, so why don’t you go ahead and tell me who you are and why you have Peter’s phone?”

The man huffs in annoyance. _“You really don’t remember? You must–”_

“You appear to be suffering from a touch of main character syndrome,” Tony says sharply. Happy makes a frantic gesture – _calm down_. Right. Kid in danger. “All right, listen. You have his phone. Where’s the kid?”

_“Of course you just care about the brat,”_ the voice mutters.

They’ve practised this, gone through scenarios over and over again. It’s been a possibility, a lurking threat, ever since Peter first wormed his way into Tony’s tightly-guarded inner circle. “I’ll find you,” he’s said, a hundred times. “Just keep your head down and stay alive.”

But nothing in the world can prepare Tony for the camera to pan around slowly until it finds a scuffed sneaker, dusty jeans, a Death Star shirt – and Peter’s slack face pressed into the dirt.

“What the fuck did you do–?”

_“He’s only sleeping.”_

Tony’s hand clenches around his phone.

“Calm the hell down,” Happy murmurs, then, in the same breath, “FRIDAY, trace the call.”

_“I cannot. Something is interfering with the signal.”_

“Shit. Keep trying.”

Tony leans in closer, searching the screen for anything that could hint towards Peter’s location: dirt road, grass peeking into the edge of the screen, but other than that, nothing. And Peter still doesn’t move. There’s no outward sign of injury, but the stillness, the lifelessness, is chilling.

_He’s only sleeping. He’s only sleeping._ Except Peter’s Spider-Man, so what has this guy done to get Spider-Man _only sleeping_?

_“Are you even listening?”_

Tony starts. “What?”

The man sounds petulant, affronted. _“You must know me, Tony.”_

_He’s getting way too familiar_. Tony’s mouth is so numb, he’s amazed he manages to form words at all. “If I’ve done something to you – I’m sorry, okay? You don’t need to involve the kid.”

_“He’s_ fine _.”_ The camera moves closer, a hand moves into shot, lifting up Peter’s arm and letting it drop abruptly. The kid whimpers but doesn’t move. _“See?”_

“Okay, good. So what do you want?”

_“Boss,”_ FRIDAY says quietly, _“my location trace has returned eight potential locations.”_

“Eight?” Happy repeats. “No one could bounce a location that well. Not when FRIDAY’s tracing it.”

“I could,” Tony says hoarsely, “and so could half the guys down in R&D. Or Tech Support.”

Happy stiffens. “You think – one of ours?”

_“Come_ on _, Tony. I know you know–”_

“I don’t give a _fuck_ who you think you are!” Tony explodes. “You tell me where you are and what you’ve done with Peter, _right now_.”

Silence fills his ears like thunder. From the quiet on the other end of the phone, from Happy’s panicked expression, he’s just fucked up. Hard.

_“You really don’t know? You don’t remember me? I’ve submitted so many designs, and you never took any notice. I’m never late. I work harder than anyone. I’m loyal. I set all this up for_ you _, Tony.”_

Shit. “Yeah, okay. I got it, you’re good. I _get it._ ”

_“And you don’t even care about what I’ve done – you only care about this kid,”_ the man continues. _“He doesn’t deserve you.”_ There’s a thump, a sleepy groan of protest, a thud. Peter whimpers.

“No, listen – listen–”

_“You’re so blinded by him, you can’t see anyone else. You can’t see how much potential I have–”_

“Don’t hurt him,” Tony begs. “All right? Whatever you want, you got it. Talk to me. Just leave him alone.”

_“I didn’t want to hurt him,”_ the man says, petulant.

“Good. See? That’s good.” Tony looks up, mouthing to Happy, “Who the _fuck_ is this?”

“Working on it.”

“And I’d love to sit down and discuss this with you, I would. Face to face. Not over the phone, and definitely not while the kid’s like that, you understand?”

FRIDAY flashes up a notification over the video, an employee profile. Erik Adams. White, brown hair, brown eyes. All around, normal enough to be forgettable. But now, seeing his face, Tony remembers. The assistant down in R&D who he’d mistaken for Peter once and sorely regretted it; something about the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Tony had just nodded, smiled, and said whatever the hell he could to get out of the conversation before _suggesting_ to a few supervisors that they not renew Adams’ contract. 

Because he’d seemed off, unhinged, and now Peter is with him, alone and helpless, and Tony’s fucked up any chance he had of keeping this a calm conversation–

He sucks in a shuddering breath.

_“I didn’t want to hurt him,”_ Adams says again.

“I understand.” _I’m going to rip you limb from limb, just watch me._

_“Not at first. I just wanted to get your attention, Tony.”_ He says it like they’re close, like they’re friends. _“But then I realised that’s never going to happen. You’ll never even look at anyone else while he’s in the picture.”_

“Erik.”

Silence.

“Erik, right? Of course I remember you.”

_“You do?”_

“How could I not?” Tony says, overly cheerful. He needs to keep him talking, keep him distracted, play him so FRIDAY can trace the location and so he doesn’t hurt Peter any more. “I’m glad you cared enough to want to speak to me–“

_“Of course I care.”_ He sounds so offended that Tony would think any differently.

“And that’s great. But like I said, this isn’t the best way to have this conversation, is it? So just tell me where Peter is, and you go home and bring your resume up to date for when we have our meeting–“

_“But this way, I’m doing us both a favour,”_ Adams insists.

“A favour.” He’s lost control. Maybe he never had it in the first place.

_“I’ll even let you choose, Tony.”_

“Choose?”

_“And you always wanted me to get rid of him, didn’t you? I was waiting for your signal.”_

Oh, this guy’s absolutely crackers. Loop the fruit loop. The jack is well and truly out of the box. Tony calls a suit with a flick of his hand.

“We don’t even know where they are–“ Happy starts.

_“I have divided up the eight potential locations and created two routes with the maximum efficiency,”_ FRIDAY says. _“Splitting up is the best course of action here.”_

“We’ll find him,” Happy says, already on his way to the cockpit.

Tony opens the cabin door as the suit forms around him and jumps. FRIDAY pulls the call up in his HUD alongside the route to the first possible location. “Listen, Erik – I never would have wanted you to hurt anyone, least of all the kid. Maybe we got our wires crossed somewhere–”

_“No! No, this is what you wanted! I’m doing this because you wanted me to!”_

“Nope. Definitely not.” He pushes the suit a little faster. 

_“But…”_ Adams trails off. _“No, it’s okay.”_ He’s calm again, frighteningly so, like he’s had a reassuring thought. _“Once he’s gone, you’ll see.”_

_“You can’t reason with him, Tony,”_ Happy says quietly. _“No negotiating with crazy. You gotta play by his rules, or pretend to, at least.”_

_“I planned for this, don’t worry, but it’s your choice. I can stab him or bury him.”_ There’s a certainty in his voice that makes Tony sick; this is happening, whether he likes it or not. Inevitable.

_Stab him or bury him?_

Shit shit shit. Stabbing: something vital might get hit. Peter might bleed out too fast. And the _pain_. But being buried, in such a small space, running out of air – and Peter’s claustrophobic: after Toomes and the warehouse, that would be hell.

Time is the critical element here, though, and as much as Tony balks at the thought, one option is better than the other, and he needs to make Adams think – whatever the hell he wants to think. 

He swallows, collects himself, before letting out a harsh laugh. “Fuck it. Bury him.”

_“Bury him?”_

“Yep.” _Don’t let on. Don’t let on._

_“Absolutely, Boss, you got it. Knew you’d see things my way.”_

“Of course,” Tony says around his dry mouth.

_“Although…”_

_What now?_

_“I better make sure the job’s done, right? We want him gone. Just to make sure you can’t change your mind.”_ The camera moves closer to Peter and Tony desperately searches the kid’s face for any sign of life. _“Don’t want you going back to him. He’s not smart enough for you, anyway. Not like me.”_

“Why waste so much effort?” Tony says, panicked words spilling out of him. He’ll say anything at this point, anything. “Just–“

_“I don’t half-ass my work, Boss. Not like this one.”_

There’s a flicker of movement then, one of Peter’s eyes peeling open, dazed, bleary, but Adams doesn’t notice.

_“All right,”_ Adams says, almost to himself, like he’s preparing himself for a run or something. _“So long, kid.”_

The camera moves, jerks, as Adams lunges forward, and Peter gasps out a pained whine.

“No, what did you _do–_?”

_“I’m doing us a favour,”_ Adams says again. The camera moves again, more purposeful this time, and Tony can see a hand wrapped around one of Peter’s wrists, dragging him across the dirt road and onto the grass at the side. There’s something in the corner, a mound of dirt, a worn metal surface.

_Bury him._

_“In you go.”_ A grunt of effort, a dull thump. _“I’ll leave the phone so you can make sure he’s gone. I can’t wait to be your right-hand man, Tony.”_

“Erik–”

No answer. The view in Tony’s HUD moves dizzyingly before stopping when it hits something solid with a clatter. There’s a slam of metal. Darkness.

“Peter?” Tony shouts.

Nothing, except for the sound of dirt raining down, hitting the metal with muted clatters, until everything is muffled. No light, no sound, save for Peter’s unsteady breathing.

“Peter!” he calls again. “Pete, can you hear me?”

God, he needs – he needs Peter awake and talking, not only for his own goddamn peace of mind, but also so Peter can reverse whatever’s blocking the GPS signal on his phone. Tony needs to _find him._

But he’ll be in so much pain and trapped under the ground and all around terrified–

And if they don’t find him in time, he’ll be dead.

Time is the critical element here. Tony makes a decision. “Peter,” he says firmly, “Peter, wake up.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The smell of fresh dirt is the first sensation that Peter becomes aware of, but not the pleasant, damp smell of soil after a summer rain. It’s musty. Dry. Suffocating. It tickles the inside of his nose like dust when he breathes in. He lets out a long exhale from his mouth but it quickly transforms into a groan when a deep, fiery ache in his side forces itself to the front of his awareness. Instinctively he tries to reach for it but his limbs are heavy and his arm barely moves. 

There is a voice nearby. He hears his name being called, controlled yet urgent.

His thoughts come slow, dragging through his mind at their own pace as he tries to piece together what’s going on. He senses a light behind his eyelids and opens them just a crack, enough to see that it’s his cell phone, laying by his head and glowing in the darkness. Where it often is when he falls asleep with it... perhaps he’s still in bed then. He closes his eyes once more, but the unrelenting voice keeps him from drifting off. 

_“Peter!”_ There’s his name again, and it only takes a moment of focus for Peter to recognize Tony’s voice. _“Can you hear me?”_

His brow furrows briefly. Why is he on the phone with Tony in the middle of the night? He tries to respond, to ask what is happening, but his mind and body are both too sluggish to form words and he only manages a confused moan.

He tries to reach for his side once more, no longer able to ignore the piercing pain that seems to only increase with each passing moment. This time he’s able to move his arm, but then it bumps against something solid and is stopped again. He lays still for a moment, forearm trapped up near his chest, against what must be his bedroom wall. Only he doesn’t usually sleep this close to the wall. And his wall isn’t usually on this side of the bed. 

_“Kid, I need you to wake up.”_

_I am awake,_ he tries to say, but still he can’t get the words to travel from his brain to his lips. He tries to shift his other arm, to pull away and adjust, but is stopped by a wall on that side too. His mind blanks in confusion for a moment, but then a pit begins to grow in his stomach as a new suspicion begins to form. He keeps his eyes tightly closed and then pushes against the ground with shaky arms. He barely makes it six inches before his back hits the top of his confinement. Dirt trickles down over his shoulders and the back of his head, and with a sharp gasp he drops back down.

Alright. It’s alright. So he’s not awake after all, but he’s been here before. He knows it’s just in his mind. He’s not actually under the rubble of the collapsed warehouse-- it’s a simple nightmare, no more real than if it was being played back to him on a TV screen. 

But it doesn’t stop his heart from pounding.

_“Peter!”_

He’s no longer sure where Tony’s voice is coming from. Is it through the phone or is Tony actually here, looking for him somewhere in the debris? He lets out a shaky breath. Tony has never been in this nightmare before. He opens his eyes again, squinting. There isn’t usually a phone either. It’s always just him-- trapped, crushed, alone. No one comes for him; no one knows to. 

“Are you here?” Peter is almost surprised when his mouth cooperates. It’s slurred and the words don’t make much sense, but then again there isn’t a whole lot that _is_ making sense. “Need help.”

He gets a rushed, relieved exhale in response. 

Tony begins to talk again but Peter can’t quite register his words. He tries to focus his blurry vision but doing so only makes the anxiety coiling around his chest pull tighter, because instead of seeing the piles of concrete around him that he’s used to, he sees only a dirt-streaked sheet of metal no more than a foot away from his face.

“I want to wake up now,” he whispers. He tries to pull back but again hits the other wall, and his already loud heartbeat begins to pick up speed. He should be awake by now. He almost always wakes up as soon as he recognizes the nightmare for what it is. He strains upward again, pressing his back against the top in the wild hope that the dream wants him to free himself, but the eruption of pain in his side sends him back down with a sharp cry. 

_“Hey, easy! You gotta stop moving, okay, kid? I need you to listen to me.”_

“Mr. Stark.” Prickly heat crawls over his skin and he locks his gaze onto the phone, seeing Tony’s name on the screen. “Mr. Stark? Why can’t I wake up?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, long enough that Peter begins to worry that Tony had never been there to begin with. But then his voice comes through again, filled with emotion. _“You’re not asleep, Pete. You’re not dreaming. But everything is going to be okay, you just need to stay calm and listen to me. You have your phone right there with you, right?”_

“No, no, no,” Peter breathes, struggling to move and feeling his feet and legs bump into the metal. “Where is this? Where am I?”

_“I’m going to be there soon,”_ the older man responds cryptically. _“But listen, this is very important, okay? Can you reach your phone?”_

The air suddenly feels too thin for Peter’s lungs but he slides his hand up to his phone, fingers hovering over the screen. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I can reach it.” 

_“Is there anything on it? Anything that isn’t supposed to be there?”_

He stares at it, trying desperately to keep his mind focused on Tony’s words instead of his rising claustrophobia. “Um… there’s a, a thing… something flat, on the back? And something plugged into the um. Charging thing.”

_“Where the lightning cable usually goes?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Okay, I want you to unplug that. And the thing that’s stuck to the back, can you get that off?”_

Peter’s fingers touch the edge of the phone. “What if it hangs up?”

_“Don’t worry about that. If it does I’ll call you right back, just unplug it.”_

He squeezes his other arm underneath him as best he can, grunting as the ache in his side flares. His shirt feels warm and wet and sticky. “I think something happened, Mr. Stark. Something is wrong in my side, I think I’m bleeding.”

_“I know, it’s okay. We’ll fix that soon, I promise. Did you pull the thing off?”_

On his side now, he’s able to take the phone and carefully unplug the small cable. Then he fiddles with the flat disk that the cable leads to, stuck to the back of the phone. He digs his fingers into the edge of it and with a snap it pops off.

Immediately he hears the sound of thrusters through the phone. _“Good job, kid, that did it.”_

“Okay,” Peter murmured, still holding the phone in a loose grip. His mind is caught-- he wants to know what’s actually happening, where he actually is. Yet he knows instinctively that more details would only bring more panic. The small amount that he does have the wherewithal to understand is enough on its own to make him feel sick with fear. 

Wherever he is, he’s stuck. He can’t move more than a few inches on either side. He’s bleeding. He doesn’t even remember how he got there. Who he was with. How long it will take Tony to get to wherever he is. There doesn’t seem to be any fresh air coming in--what if he runs out? What if he suffocates before Tony can reach him?

_“Hey. Try and slow down your breathing, alright? Don’t let your mind run wild. Try and pretend you’re just in a really snug sleeping bag.”_

_I’ve never gone camping before,_ Peter thinks distantly. _And if this is what being in a sleeping bag is like, I don’t ever want to._ Regardless, he tries taking a deep breath and letting it out more gradually. 

_“Can you reach your side? I need you to put pressure on it.”_

He lets go of the phone, easing his hand down to touch the wet spot under his ribs. His fingers immediately find a tear in his shirt, and underneath that—he sucks in a sharp breath and presses his palm over what can only be a knife wound. 

“It’s bleeding a lot,” he says through a grimace. His fingers and toes begin to tingle, his eyesight going a little bit blurry when he tries to focus on the metal wall again. “I think I might be passin’ out,” he realizes out loud.

_“No! No way. Keep steady pressure on that wound and don’t let up.”_

“I’m tryin’.” But his vision is already beginning to dim, and he knows he only has a few seconds. “Will ya’be here soo’?”

_“Yes.”_

The answer is so quick and absolute that Peter almost smiles. 

_“Just don’t pass out, Pete, please…”_

Peter’s heart aches at the emotion in the man’s voice, knowing he won’t be able to obey. _I’m sorry,_ he thinks. Then his eyes slide closed and darkness envelopes him. 

* * *

Erik is only momentarily surprised when he hears the sound of a jet nearing the field. Of _course_ Tony would have figured out their location far earlier than he anticipated. Erik had been foolish to have so little faith in him.

He waits near the mound of dirt hiding Peter, a welcoming grin on his face as he watches the jet make a smooth landing, only to turn and head back toward him. It comes to a stop about fifty feet away, and it’s not long before the side door opens and a set of stairs unfolds.

However, Erik can’t hide his frown when instead of Tony, it’s Harold “Happy” Hogan—SI’s Head of Security—who emerges. He walks over to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Where’s Tony?” Erik asks petulantly, foregoing the more deferential greeting he would have previously bestowed upon someone whom he knew to be a longtime friend of Tony’s. After all, after today he would have a higher rank than Hogan when it came to SI work _and_ Tony’s inner circle—Tony had said so himself. He’ll give Erik whatever he wants.

“He took the suit,” Hogan replies. He eyes the mound of dirt, only to look back at Erik with a congenial smile. “You know how he is.”

At this Erik nods, his frown relaxing a fraction. Sure, he’d be above Hogan in rank, but it wouldn’t hurt to try to stay on the guy’s good side. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Just then he sees the tell-tale red dot of the Iron Man suit appear in the distance, coming closer.

“Listen, we should get started on the paperwork for your promotion, though,” Hogan continues, pointing a thumb back at the jet. “Why don’t we head back in?”

Erik eyes Tony flying closer. He’ll be here in less than thirty seconds, if Erik had to guess. “Shouldn’t we at least say hello first?”

“Nah,” Happy says with a wave of his hand. “He’s going to want to check and make sure Parker is done for first. But after that he won’t want to wait any longer than he has to to sign the documents and make it official. He’s a pretty busy guy, y’know.”

“Obviously,” Erik says, then reminding himself once more to be nice, smiles and claps Hogan on the shoulder. “Lead the way, Hap.”

He follows Hogan up the stairs and inside, only glancing back once just in time to see Tony land on the field before the jet’s door automatically closes in his face. Part of him almost wants to head back out and greet the man, but he tells himself to be patient. Tony just wants to make sure Erik upheld his end of the deal, after all.

With a deep breath he turns back to Happy, who motions to a very comfortable looking leather chair. “Have a seat here, and I’ll get the paperwork printed. Tony should be aboard shortly.”

Erik sits down leaning back and closes his eyes in pure contentment. If this is to be the level of luxury in his future in return for his loyalty to Tony, well, he’s pretty certain he can get used to it. 

“Hey Hap,” he says, eyes still shut, “You think you could get me a drink? I’m really thirsty from all the–”

_Click._

Erik’s eyes fly open to look down at his right wrist, which is now handcuffed to the small metal pole that attaches the armrest to the main structure of the chair. 

“What the hell, Hogan?”

“You didn’t _really_ believe Tony was going to give you a promotion, did you?” Hogan replies with no small amount of disgust in his voice. With a growl Erik leaps out of his seat and lunges at the man, but Hogan manages to step back and out of his reach. Furious, Erik pulls at the cuff, then tries to break the chair apart—all to no avail.

“Tony’s gonna hear about this! And then he’s going to fire your ass, you son of a bitch!” he yells threateningly. 

But if Hogan is intimidated he doesn’t show it, just shrugs as he heads for the jet door, saying over shoulder, “You be sure to write him a letter and tell him that when you’re sitting in a prison cell for the kidnapping and attempted murder of a _child.”_ The jet door opens, and Hogan pauses in the threshold—smile long gone. “The next people coming in here to talk to you will be the police, asshole. Enjoy your time on this jet because it’ll be the closest you _ever_ get to Tony Stark or Peter Parker ever again.”

“Get back here, Hogan! Get back here and let. me. OUT!” Erik roars, but Hogan has already disappeared, the door closing again behind him. 

Even alone Erik continues to scream out his rage, pulling on the cuff until his wrist is bloody. Finally he collapses back in the chair, taking a few deep meditative breaths until he’s calmed. He closes his eyes again and begins to whisper to himself, “Tony will come. Tony will fix this. He won’t desert me, not after everything. Tony will come and fix this.”

He’s still repeating the mantra when the cops come aboard.

* * *

When he lands, Tony spares a single second to watch Happy lead Adams up the steps and into the jet. Just that quick look at him has Tony’s blood boiling. Other than that one excruciatingly uncomfortable conversation and the very _off,_ stalkerish vibes he’d gotten from the man—and Tony will never forgive himself for not following up on getting him canned—he’s never had anything to do with the guy.

But all that gets shoved to the back of his mind the instant he sees the patch of ground a few feet off the dirt road, the freshly-turned earth. Happy could beat the guy to hell for all he cares – he knows exactly where Peter is. “Talk to me, Fri. What do I do?”

_“Mr Hogan is contacting SHIELD medical. They are ten minutes away.”_

“Nope, not quick enough.” He’s almost single-mindedly focused on the ground, but he can hear Peter’s breathing slowing down over the phone. “How far down…?”

_How deep is the kid buried?_

_“I estimate no more than three feet, and the earth is not tightly packed.”_

“Okay,” Tony says, and shoots a repulsor blast at the ground.

Clods of earth erupt, throwing dirt in every direction, and when they settle, there’s a crater about a foot deep. Tony fires again, and again – frantic, desperate, every inch of him focused on _Peter Peter Peter–_

Until finally there’s a glint of metal through the dust. Tony shrugs off the suit and clambers into the hole he’s made, scrabbling at the earth like a frantic rabbit. The suit joins him, pushing the dirt away much more efficiently and revealing what looks like an old double locker. Shit, that’s tiny. No wonder Peter was freaking out. 

“Peter,” Tony gasps, “kid, I’m here.” 

The suit yanks open the doors and Tony dives forward, uncaring of the dirt that coats his suit pants, grabs desperately until his hands hook underneath Peter’s arms.

“Peter?” he says again, even as he’s hauling them both backwards, staggering against the loosely piled dirt. “Pete, come on. Come on.”

_“He’s still breathing,”_ FRIDAY says quietly.

But unresponsive. Tony finally makes it out of the hole and collapses on his ass. Peter’s shirt is wet and sticky with blood, clinging to his stomach as Tony shifts him into a better position. “Give me something here, kid.” He presses his hand down over the knife wound to try and staunch the still-seeping flow of blood.

_“Medical’s two minutes away.”_

“Peter. Come on, wake up. Wake up.”

And Peter does. He comes to swinging, clumsy, a panicked gasp bursting out, but then his eyes focus, find Tony. He relaxes, one hand coming up to grasp the front of Tony’s suit, and passes out.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” Tony murmurs, warmth swelling in his chest, “just me, buddy. Just me.”

They stay like that – crumpled on the ground, clinging to each other – until the medics arrive. 

* * *

The next time Peter wakes up, there’s a pressure on his side that makes him panic, but his arms cooperate when he tries to move and there’s bright light instead of pervasive darkness on the other side of his eyelids, so he chances a look.

“Pete?”

He whips his head around and finds Tony sitting beside his bed – bed, he’s in a bed, in what he assumes is the Medbay. “Hey,” he rasps, his throat painfully dry, “think I had a bad dream.”

Tony’s face crumples.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, kid. Wasn’t a dream. I’m sorry.” Tony gently eases him up and hands him a glass of water.

Peter presses one hand against the lump on his side – bandages, as it turns out – and winces. “What the–? Did I get stabbed?”

“Someone stabbed you.”

“Same difference, right?”

“Not really, because instead of you putting yourself in danger, I had this lunatic working for me for years, and I couldn’t see how dangerous he was – nor could Happy, for that matter – and he _stabbed_ you–“ Tony breaks off suddenly. “May went to get some rest. Do you want me to call her?”

“In a minute, just…” Peter tries to shift so he’s sitting upright. Big mistake. “What – ow – what happened? I was on my way to school, and…wait, that guy that everyone says looks like me. He was giving me a ride.” It’s starting to come back now, in foggy bits and pieces. “We got coffee, and...” Not much after that.

“Needless to say, you didn’t make it to school,” Tony says stiffly. “It was a hell of a Starbucks cocktail. Drugs were in your system for hours.”

“Oh.” Peter ducks his head. “I, um – are you mad?”

“Mad?” Tony stands, grasps his shoulders. “Mad? I am so so _sorry_ , kid.” 

Peter meets his eyes briefly but then looks away again. “I just feel so _stupid_. I got into the car with him, I drank what he handed me… I mean, there was so much about it that was weird, I just. I dunno.” He puts his hand lightly over the bandages again.

Tony gives a small sigh. “You gotta listen to your gut more, kid. You’re too nice.” He gives Peter’s shoulders a squeeze before dropping his hands again. “And _I’m_ starting to think I might need to implement some sort of yearly psych evaluation on my employees.”

“What – what else happened? I was stuck…” 

Tony rubs at his chin, looking strangely nervous. “Yeah, Adams, he—after he stabbed you, he… he buried you underground.” 

A sudden memory of Tony’s voice—tinny over the phone and sounding desperate—flashes through Peter’s mind. Slowly he nods. “I remember being trapped, kind of, but I didn’t know he buried me. Why would he do that?”

He watches as anger plays across Tony’s face, only to quickly transform into a sheepish expression of guilt. “Apparently he thought it’s what I _wanted_ him to do.” A low chuckle follows after the words but there’s no joy to it, Tony shaking his head before fixing Peter with a hard stare. “The man’s a lunatic, but what matters is that he’s never getting near you again, alright? You’re safe, Pete, and I’m going to make damn certain you stay that way. You know that, right?”

Peter nearly makes a joke about Parker Luck and being the magnet for trouble both May and Tony often lament he is. But something in Tony’s tone, or maybe the shiny look in his eyes, belies a raw vulnerability. Tony _needs_ him to believe this, Peter realizes.

“I know, Mr. Stark,” he says, meeting his mentor’s gaze unblinking. _I’m sorry I scared you so badly_ , he thinks but doesn’t say. _I wish I could promise I never will again,_ he adds but _definitely_ doesn’t say.

Tony’s eyes narrow for a moment, scrutinizing. Eventually the wrinkles around his eyes soften, mouth relaxing into a fond smile. “Good, kid. That’s good.” A hand lands gently on Peter’s head to ruffle his hair. “Because there aren’t any other nerdy spider-kids out there to fill your position, so I have to hang onto the one I’ve got.”

Warmth blooms in Peter’s chest and he returns the smile. “Sorry about your conference. It sounded cool.”

Tony shrugs. “There’s always next time. Besides, it gave Happy a chance to do what he’s always itching to do, and that is run security checks on every single employee and their families. He lives for that shit.”

“He knows I don’t blame him, right?” Peter says carefully. “Or you. It’s not your fault. Either of you. You guys saved me.”

“A scenario where you don’t need saving in the first place is always preferable.”

“Mr Stark.”

“Mr Parker.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “You’re _incorrigible.”_

“Believe it or not, that’s one of the nicer things I’ve been called in my time,” Tony quips.

Peter just snorts, shaking his head only to still and pin Tony with a fond stare. “But seriously, thank you for finding me." 

Tony’s eyes crinkle with a small smile, the earlier guilt finally chased out entirely from his expression.

“I’ll always find you, Pete. That’s a promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed our writing gremlins <3


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